


The Master of Spin

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Celebrity AU, Crack, F/M, Matchmaking, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:07:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: Varys is Westeros's most sought after publicist and PR guru. Jaime is his client.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 21
Kudos: 104





	The Master of Spin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeta_Mei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeta_Mei/gifts).



> For the wonderful Zeta_Mei, who inspired we with the excellent Varys in their fic, Beware your Dreams. Slightly off from what you suggested, but I hope you enjoy :)

Varys, just Varys. 

Varys had no last name. Varys had no past. Varys was barely a man. He was a spider, a snake.

Varys was an _institution_. 

Smiling, always smiling, soft and polite and perfumed and always smiling. Light footed, silver tongued. The spider Spin King of Westeros. Weaving his web, in-debting the great and glorious of the land. Make him your friend, and your path is golden. Make him your enemy….

Well, see you in the next life.

No one could quite tell a tale like Varys, but dear me did his clients make him sweat for it.

~

Rhaegar did not come to the office for the meeting. He would not even face chat with Varys. He knew he had fucked up. He talked with his publicist on the phone, and tried not to picture his eyes, his face. Varys never got angry. If only he was the sort to shout, he would have been less fearsome.

“So, to recap,” Varys said coolly, his voice as slippery as silk, “You were in concert. Your wife was in the front row, the first time she has been seen in public since she almost died in childbirth. Said wife is extremely beloved by the country for her philanthropic work. You were performing live for two thousand people. The performance was being streamed by four million. And yet, when you stepped from the stage with a winter blue rose in your hand, at the climax of W _inter’s Lady,_ you did not bestow the rose upon your wife. Instead you give the rose to Lyanna Stark, your _cousin’s fiance.”_

Rhaegar swallowed, his throat as dry as the Dornish sand. “That’s about the size of it.”

“Right then,” Varys said briskly. “I have put some feelers out. I have compelling evidence that Lyanna Stark was present at the Laughing Tree protests, and was responsible for pelting several Golden Cloaks with water bombs filled with horse piss. We will let it leak that the rose was in honour of her clandestine fight for freedom. You did so because you are a staunch defender of justice, not because you are lusting after a woman who is not your wife. We get you twitter fandom on the case, and between them and bots, your reputation will be cleared with your fanbase by Monday.”

“Well...that’s a start,” Rhaegar said uncertainly. He could feel Varys’s raised eyebrow all the way from Dorne. “So can you somehow spin that Lyanna and I are now shacking up in Elia’s homeland as some sort of righteous strike for liberty?”

~

“Randyll Tarly has actually done our client a boon, unintentionally so. We will keep his statement in the press for a few weeks, drag up his divorce and history of child abuse, and leave Lysa up as a contrast. His rant on; I quote, ‘ _the perversion of nature in leaving a boy to be reared solely by his mother, submitting him to the authority of women and undermining his natural masculine dominance, turning him as weak and feeble as a member of the lesser sex’_ has turned Lysa Arryn into a feminist heroine. A liberal idol striking a blow for breastfeeding mothers everywhere. Give me two weeks, and everyone will forget Robin is already seven!” 

~

Jaime; son of wealthy philanthropist Tywin Lannister, sat before Varys’s death, suit scruffy and face gaunt. Varys made a mental note to make sure his people got a shot of Jaime released in such a state. Worn and wan and delightfully dishevelled. Rugged and manly, yet ever so vulnerable.

“You punched an old man, pushing seventy. Said old man you were appointed to protect by the court, after he has received multiple death threats.”

“He deserved it...if you knew what he was going to do-”

“Jaime, the entire kingdom knows what he is capable of. That is why you were employed as his bodyguard. We need to do some major damage control.”

“So, what do you suggest?” 

“You kept him from assaulting his maid. We get you on feminist podcasts, you talk about how you have a sister who is so dear to you and who you have always protected. And we remind everyone how sublimely hot you are.”

“And how do we do that?” Jaime asked doubtfully. 

A smile spread on Varys’s powdered face. His plump white hands lay down three photographs, all bearing the faces of pretty young girls. 

“Three of Westeros’s hottest it girls. Arianne Martell, Margaery Tyrell and Sansa Stark. Take your pick.”

~

Arianne Martell was promising. Model, actress and singer Beloved by Dorne, lusted after by Westeros. Small and dainty but bold, with a sly smile and sparkling eyes. Not Jaime’s type, but her fire made her interesting company, and she was more than happy to have Jaime as her newest piece of arm candy.

She even wanted to talk about what happened with Aerys, her beloved aunt had been on the receiving hands of his abuse, and Jaime was grateful to get the matter off his chest. 

The problem was, she _only_ wanted to talk about Aerys. 

“Tell me again,” she purred, “How did it feel when you felt his bone crunch against your palm? When his nose burst and blood exploded down your fist. Did he scream, did his eyes open wide in shock or flinch in pain. Was the blood hot on your hand, was it salty to your nose?” 

Jaime politely detached himself from Arianne’s death grip, and made plans to ring up Varys and tell him it was back to the drawing board. 

~

Margaery Tyrell was almost the exact opposite of Arianne Martell. A sweet, wholesome, all-Westerosi girl. The daughter of Mace Tyrell, she had made a name for herself as an activist, cunningly finding a niche audience in privileged girls who recognised the need for social chance, but wished protesters didn’t have to be so _aggressive_ and _hostile_ about it. Uncontroversial, gently smiling, sweet words that sounded everything and meant nothing.

“So,” Jaime began, tugging at his tie. Varys had warned him that Margaery Tyrell would allow nothing but perfection in her other half, and if they were going to get anywhere, Jaime was going to have to shave and iron his suit. “You are running the King’s Landing Marathon to raise awareness for creating positive online environments, what does that entail exactly?”

Margaery tilted her head to one side, fluttered her long dark lashes, and smiled. 

“It’s about working to create a sense of empathy and compassion in a digital platform, encouraging an exchange of information that is both respectful and solicitous, yet always with an eye on the truth. In doing so, we all can move forward into a future that has love and understanding, but honesty and freedom of thought, at its core.”

Jaime blinked. That was a lot of long words. He tried to scramble for the right response, as Margaery sat there, sweet and simpering. She was so polished, so slick, Jaime suspected that he could knock her skin with his knuckles and find only gilded steel. 

He texted Varys and said that Margaery was another no-goer. Pretty, but almost certainly a fembot. And Jaime had watched Austin Powers too many times to fall into that trap _._

No bosoms were going to fire bullets at _his_ mug. 

~

Ok, Sansa, Sansa was pretty. An influencer, famous for being famous. Inoffensive, not exciting like Arianne, but not a cyborg like Margaery. Her career needed a boost just as his image needed a makeover. He could stand to spend a little time with her, go to a couple of concerts and dinners and pap shots down at Flea Bottom Market, until the time came to go their separate ways.

That was the plan. Their first date was supposed to be dinner and dancing at Chataya’s. Sansa was still trying to choose between her black _Tyene_ mini, or her sky blue dress from _The House of Royce_ , when Jaime arrived at her flat, bouquet of lilies in hand. Fortunately, he had her ugly, brutish roommate with a broken nose and blue eyes to keep him entertained. She was a ward of Catelyn Stark, staying with Sansa while attending KLU as a history student. He found her bent backed, scowling and muttering over her computer screen, trying to whack out a two thousand word essay on the role of women in combat in the Long Night.

Jaime loved nothing better than sticking his teeth into a good argument about swords and White Walkers, even more so than baiting grumpy students who took themselves too seriously. Instead of standing by the door, waiting for Sansa like any proper date, he hovered over Brienne’s shoulder like a mosquito, offering up ‘constructive criticism’. 

Two minutes after he arrived Brienne was ready to scream.

Five minutes later she wanted nothing more than to thrust her computer screen into his face.

Nine minute later and ok...alright, that point about the surrounding Northern peasantry finding shelter in Winterfell was quite good. And she could build on that by noting how important it was for the women to defend themselves lest they fall and be converted into the dead!

Eighteen minutes later, Sansa emerged from her bedroom to find a note on the door, announcing that Brienne and Jaime were going to the all-night library to reference the size and weight of dragonglass daggers, and not to wait up. 

~

Varys gave Brienne a long, _long_ hard look.

“Have you considered plastic surgery, dear?” he asked politely.

Brienne flushed bright red and Jaime turned puce with anger.

“Fuck you Varys,” he spat.

Varys innocently laid out his lily white hands. “I’m just mulling over options,” he said angelically. “We need to think about the best way of going about this. Like it or not, Jaime my boy, you have a certain image to maintain, and your public has expectations of the type of women you should be seen with. Miss Tarth, delightful as she no doubt is,” he said, turning to Brienne with a glittering smile, looking over the homely, scruffily dressed student, “Does not exactly fit in with those standards.”

“So we create me a new image,” Jaime growled. “Get me a pair of glasses and enrol me back in school. Get me plastic surgery and give me a bulbous nose and elephant ears, I don’t care as long as Brienne and I can be together.”

Varys considered Jaime’s words thoughtfully. “Ye-es,” he said, steepling his fingers back together. “Back to school,” he tasted the words on his lips. “If we find you a course with a feminist bent, women in combat like your dear sweetling, or even something to set you up as an authority on combating domestic abuse, we might actually get somewhere.” He beamed at Jaime, eyes sparkling in delight. “This could be a whole new avenue for you. A respectable, thoughtful young scholar, horrified by the cruelty he witnessed at Aerys Targaryen’s hands, dedicating his time to learning how to make the world a better place. Although, we can avoid the surgery. No need to mar that beautiful face. In fact;” Varys’s smile swallowed his face, teeth white and blinding. “I think I have the perfect spin.”

Brienne and Jaime exchanged uneasy looks. “And what’s that?” Brienne asked doubtfully. 

“Why my dear, the most beautiful and touching narrative there is,” Varys declared. “It’s a tale as old as time, Beauty and the Beast!” 


End file.
